


Asshole

by jpegcalum



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Soul Mate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, ill add more tags later!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 01:45:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4985221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jpegcalum/pseuds/jpegcalum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Michael Clifford is your Soul Mate, and it's a little crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Asshole

Asshole.   
In sleek, ornate script, standing out against pale skin, and in the summer heat, Michael wasn't going to cover it with a sweat shirt.   
So, there he was, looking like an idiot, with 'Asshole' tattooed up his arm.   
He didn't put it there, of course. When he'd turned sixteen, it'd just showed up, and he couldn't believe that *that* was the first word that his soul mate would say to him.  
Well, not that he was surprised.   
They probably had something terribly profane written on them.   
Maybe something like-  
'Where do you want it?' 

He'd spent a fair amount of time thinking about it. 

Michael Clifford was currently sitting in the food court of a dirty rest stop, somewhere between 'Middle Of' and 'No Where'.   
The band had been on that damn bus for like, eleven and a half hours, and it was Calum that'd nearly lost his mind with cabin fever. Michael was completely content sleeping the day away, but no. They had to come and sit at a dingy McDonald's, probably catching the plague, or herpes. He was having the time of his life. Hear the sarcasm?   
Calum and Luke had wandered off to the play area, leaving Ashton sitting at the table, with a half awake, seriously grouchy Michael. 

"The burgers are soggy." Ashton muttered, peeling away the top bun, scowling at the 'meat'.   
Not wanting to deal with anyone's whining, the guitarist stood up, smashing the 'food' onto the tray and trudging to the garbage can.   
Damn, he wished he was asleep.   
Carding a hand through his blonde hair, he yawned, closing his eyes, and that was his first mistake.   
A sudden blow of someone bumping him in his chest made his stumble, the grimy tray knocked from his hands. His eyes snapped open, and he grimaced, glaring at his assailant: A young woman. 

"Hey, watch where you're going." He snapped harshly, and she crinkled her nose, glaring at him. 

"Asshole." She retorted, moving to walk past him. Michael knelt to pick up the fallen food, but froze as a bright, burning sensation lit up his right forearm. Looking down, his eyes widened as the letters, one by one, as if someone was tracing over them, filled with red.   
Standing slowly, he watched the girl clutching her arm a few feet away. She turned to face him, her lips parted, her mind clearly searching for the words to say. 

"Holy shit." Michael offered, hitting the nail on the head. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*

You weren't expecting to meet your soul mate on this road trip.   
You just wanted to go and look at colleges out west, enduring your mother's constant photo taking and your father's grumbling 'our little girl is all grown up'. Maybe it would be a nice art major, telling you watch where you're going.   
But no. 

It had to be the dyed blond punk rock nobody in a McDonald's.   
Awesome. 

So there you are, staring him in the face, and he's just said 'Holy Shit' like he's come to a revelation. 

"Great. Perfect." You don't bother hiding your frustration with the fates, throwing your hands up in the air.

He looks quite offended by this, and he crosses his arms, the crimson letters on his light skin making you smirk. 

"Well, you're quick to judge, aren't you?" He asked. You notice that he looks vaguely familiar, and you chalk it up to thinking you might have seen him in another car. 

"Well-" You make a vague motion at him, and you hear a loud laugh from a few tables away, seeing another young man with brown hair tucked behind a bandana. He looks familiar too... Damn, it was killing you. 

"You're no prize yourself." Your soul mate said, smirking, like he knew something you didn't. 

"You wanna bet, wannabe?" You reply, holding your ground. 

He opens his mouth, barely two feet away from you, but he's cut off by a teenaged girl with wide eyes and a tank top with... your soul mate's face on it.   
"Michael!" The girl gasped, holding out a napkin. He smiled brightly, signing it happily. The teen hurried off, and he turned back to you. 

Your mouth falls open, and you nearly stumble. 

"Michael...Clifford." It suddenly hits you like a slap, and there's more laughing from the table. You throw a pointed look in that direction, only to see two other boys in the booth, watching. 

"And you are?" He asked you. 

You remember to speak after a moment.   
"(Y/n Y/L/n). You're famous." You say. While you're not a fan of 5 Seconds of Summer, (you just can't get into them. You aren't a fan of boy bands), you can appreciate a famous person. 

Michael studies you, appearing awake and wired now, but you catch a glimpse of something- was that fear?- in his eyes. 

"Are you alone?" He asks, and you shake your head, motioning to a couple sitting at an outside table. 

"My parents and I, we're going to California." You say.   
"Where are you and your..." You motion to the booth, where the boys instantly and obviously sat down, giggling like they weren't just eavesdropping. 

"Everywhere. We don't make it to California for another month." Michael replied.   
"Why don't they make handbooks for soul mate shit?" 

You can't help but laugh at that, relieved that he was just as clueless as you.

He ran a hand through his hair, and he caught you glancing up as an older man approached and sat in the booth, leaning in as the boys filled him in. 

"Come on, come talk to them." He said, motioning. 

"Look, I'm not a fangirl." You put up your hands, but he only cocks a brow at you. 

"They're my friends. I figured you might want to meet them. Honestly, my ego isn't *that* big." He muttered, looking a bit embarrassed beneath the surface. You feel the same, but you aren't as good at concealing it.   
You're glad that he doesn't try to touch you or reach for your hand as he walks you to the table, where the curiosity is shared on each person's face. 

"Who's your friend, Michael?" One of them, a young man with tan skin and dark hair asks with a smirk. 

"This is (Y/n). She's my-" 

"Your soul mate!!!" You jump at the shout, staring at the source- a blond haired, blue eyed boy with a black lip piercing. 

Michael sighed, rubbing his eyes.   
"Yeah. (Y/n), this is Calum, Luke and Ashton." He motioned to each in turn, and they gave bright smiles. 

"Doesn't she know?" Calum asked, yelping shortly after from what you can only assume was a kick to the shin under the table.   
Luke jumped next, and it turned into a full on battle of kicking.   
The older man winced, getting out of the line of fire. 

"We have to leave in the next five minutes if we're going to make it on time." The man said, and Michael sighed, nodding.   
"He's our driver." He explained to you. He paused, looking back outside.   
"I don't s'pose you wanna come with us on the bus, d'you?" He asked, his head low and his voice sheepish. It was very out of character, from what you'd learned of him so far.   
All the same, you look over, noticing your mother had started looking around, probably for you.   
You look back up at Michael, and shake your head. He gives a light sigh, grabbing your hand and holding it palm up, pulling a marker from his pocket. He scribbled a number on your skin before releasing you. 

"We'll meet, alright? I'll find you." He promised, giving a small smile as he studied your face. 

You smile back, taking a shaky breath. You'd just met your soul mate, and he was leaving. It was messed up, but... you didn't know anything about him. The sting of parting wasn't so bad. 

You watch him start walking, and he kept glancing back at you as Ashton dragged him along by the wrist. 

You feel a slight tug at your heart, and you wonder if he feels the same to you. 

Even when you go and sit beside your parents, your thoughts are of blond hair and bright eyes. 

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

You don't get a text from Michael for three days. Meanwhile, you've reached San Francisco, patrolled two college campuses, and and now, since you'd reached your daily quota of family time, you were sprawled out on your bed at the hotel, your (y/h/c) hair fanned out around your head like a halo. Your eyes flicked over the phone screen, scanning your Twitter feed for anything of interest.  
You'd followed Michael the day you met him, and as your eyes fell on a tweet he'd just sent out, you didn't hesitate in clicking the attached photo when the headline was 'Sorry Folks'.  
The photo was of his arm, his tattoo still fresh ruby colored.   
You knew that the more time a matched pair spent together, the faster the markings faded, but they were still bright.   
You smiled at the comments, feeling like a master thief.   
You exited Twitter, moving to go to your music player, freshly stocked with a new album of a certain band. You were trying to get into them, so you could have a little credit.   
However, before you could select a song, your phone buzzed with the arrival of a new text. 

[Text from: Michael] i saw u liking that tweet  
[Text from: Michael] feelin special?

You frown a bit at his bad grammar, and roll your eyes, typing a reply. 

[Text to: Michael] You're full of yourself. 

You hit send, deciding that you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of your knowing any of his music. You instead select Marina and the Diamonds, laying back as How to Be a Heartbreaker began playing.   
Thankfully, your parents had wandered off for a date, so you were free to lay there on the bed in pajama shorts and a hoodie, singing out loud along to the music.   
Your phone buzzed again.

[Text from: Michael] that wasnt the question but thanx  
[Text from: Michael] between shows  
[Text from: Michael] thought i might try to get to know u

You sigh, your thumbs moving to reply. 

[Text to: Michael] How nice of you.  
[Text to: Michael] What do you want to know?

[Text from: Michael] how old are u  
[Text from: Michael] whens ur birthday  
[Text from: Michael] why r u in cali  
[Text from: Michael] whats ur favorite movie

The barrage of texts actually makes you smile, and you begin to reply. 

[Text to: Michael] I'm 18. My birthday is (y/b/d). I'm looking at colleges. My favorite movie is (y/f/m). 

You wait, and he texts back, answering the questions for himself, and asks you to take a selfie. You hesitate, but after a moment, you take the photo and send it to him.  
He sends one back, and even though it's dark and grainy, you can see its him, sticking his tongue out, and he appears to be sitting on someone's lap. 

[Text to: Michael] Hi Calum

[Text from: Michael] He says hello   
[Text from: Michael] he really likes you too  
[Text from: Michael] not as much as me

[Text to: Michael] Well maybe i could get his number.

There was no reply for a long while, and you start to wonder if that was the wrong thing to say. You sigh, taking out your earbuds as you stand up, looking for snacks when your phone buzzes again. You pick it up quickly, and laughing quietly. 

[Text from: Michael] calum made a comment and I had to kick the shit out of him sorry  
[Text from: Michael] I didnt kill him btw

You sigh. 

[Text to: Michael] you dont have to kill him you know. 

You wait a few more minutes, relieved when a new picture message arrives.   
It's Calum, hanging out from under a bed and giving a thumbs up.   
[Text from: Michael] hes fine see

Shaking your head, you can't help the stupid smile on your face.

[Text to: Michael] he's like an infant. 

[Text from: Michael] Yeah, he is. So I wont be in cali for like 3 weeks  
[Text from: Michael] can u stay that long

You'd busied yourself with scratching at your arm, the small, delicate crimson letters still strong. You pick up your phone and sigh.

[Text to: Michael] I'm looking for an apartment.

[Text from: Michael] well u know u could wait a little while and get one with me

As you read the words, you take a deep breath. 

[Text to: Michael] I don't know you well enough to live with you  
[Text to: Michael] and you're kind of an ass  
[Text to: Michael] not that you're an ass all the time  
[Text to: Michael] not that I know

You're a bit embarrassed at your own texts, having insulted him again, but you hoped he wouldn't be mad. 

[Text from: Michael] we'll get to know each other  
[Text from: Michael] isn't that what soul mates do  
[Text from: Michael] love and stuff

 

[Text to: Michael] I guess, but youre in  
[Text to: Michael] where are you

[Text from: Michael] Texas

[Text to: Michael] You're in Texas. We can start working on relationship stuff when you get here. 

[Text from: Michael] Ok  
[Text from: Michael] I gtg  
[Text from: Michael] text you tonight  
[Text from: Michael] ♡

You sigh, thumbs hovering above the keys before finally typing.   
[Text to: Michael] ♡

~*~*~*~*~

Texting her, for some reason, brightened Michael's mood drastically.

"Are you gonna kill me still?" Calum asked, taking selfies under the bed. 

"If you talk like that about her again, yeah." The wild haired man replied, still leaning over his phone. She'd sent a heart back. That must mean he was doing something right.  
Calum made an unconvinced noise, and Michael got off the bed, just to jump back on it, earning himself a shout as Calum was nearly squashed.

"Asshole!" The smaller yelled as he wriggled out from under the bed, scowling. He wasn't truly angry as he plopped at the end of the bed. Michael smirked, but didn't look up from his phone. Cocking a brow, the Kiwi moved up to cuddle the pale haired man, looking over his shoulder.   
On the screen was (Y/n)'s Instagram page. There were a few posts, mostly selfies, some pictures of places she hoped to visit. 

Michael didn't speak as he scrolled across the page, liking a few of the photos. 

"That's gonna get you in trouble." Calum pointed out, but Michael gave a feeble shrug.

"I'm allowed to like her pictures. She's my girl." 

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

Your phone rings at four in the morning, and you flop a hand out of bed, making a blind grab for it. Your parents are awake, muttering at you angrily, and you apologize before answering it.   
You don't even get a chance to say hello before-

"(Y/N), MICHAEL CLIFFORD LIKED A BUNCH OF YOUR PICTURES ON INSTAGRAM!!!!" 

You recognize your best friend's voice right off the bat, and you sigh, climbing out of bed and going into the bathroom, closing the door behind you. 

"Yeah, I know." You reply, rubbing your eyes. 

"What do you mean? Aren't you freaking out?!" 

"No... Look, I gotta tell you something." 

There's a slight pause. 

"(Y/n), is this about Michael Clifford? Did you build a shrine and pray to it? 'Cause I was thinking about doing that for Calum."

"No, no... Are you sitting down? Can you Skype me?" You ask. 

"Yep. Hold on a sec." The phone clicks as they hang up, then a moment later, they call on Skype. 

"You look awful. Did you just wake up? What time is it?" 

"It's like, four. There's a three hour time difference from Boston, you horrendous morning person." 

They crack a grin. 

"What did you need to tell me?" 

You take a shaky breath before displaying your red lettered tattoo. 

It takes a moment, but your best friend sucked in a deep breath. 

"Oh my gosh! (Y/n)!!!" They scream, and you laugh softly. 

"It's him." You say quietly. 

"Him?" 

"Michael."

"YOU'RE SHITTING ME."

"Nope."

"You're fucking kidding me. Where... How?!" They're in a tizzy now, having dropped their phone on the bed. You can barely see them as they pace around their room. 

"A McDonald's in Wisconsin." You reply. You'd told your parents, and they'd shouted at you for not introducing them to him, but you showed them some pictures of him, and they suddenly seemed happy that you were putting it off.   
They knew he'd be in town to meet them later. 

"That is not romantic. Wait, hang on. His tattoo said 'Asshole'. Did you call Michael Clifford an asshole?!" 

"Mhm. He told me to watch where I was going when he nearly knocked me over!"

"So?! He's an angel! Be nice to angels!" 

"Right. Can I go back to bed?" You ask sleepily. 

"Only if I get talk to him!"

"I don't have him. He's in Texas for like, another month."

"That sucks... that must feel like hell. I've heard of that. It's like when you don't give aftercare after sex. It leaves the pair feeling empty and emotional. You guys need to get together."

You frown, knowing that it was truth. You'd read it too, and to be honest, you'd been feeling a little anxious. 

"You should probably go talk to him, convince him to come sooner." 

You give a slight nod, running a hand through your messy hair. 

"Yeah... I will. Yeah." 

"Alright, sweetheart. Go on. Call me later." They say before hanging up. You heave a sigh, swallowing hard. Checking the time again, you wonder if Michael would even be awake yet. You go with 'no', since you know he had a show in Austin last night, and you settle for texting him. 

[Text to: Michael] Hey, need to talk to you asap. Whenever you can. 

You lock your phone and leave the bathroom, happy to see that your parents had gone to sleep finally. 

You lie back down, hoping for sleep to take you, and it does, after tossing and turning. 

The next time you wake, it's one in the afternoon, and you have a throbbing headache.   
Your parents have already gone out, and you groan as you sit up, your eyes falling on your phone. There's... nothing. No messages. No calls. Your heart sinks, and you sigh. 

~*~*~*~*~

Its like, the ass crack of dawn when Michael's phone chimes with a text, and he has a concert hangover. His limbs ache, and he can hardly pick up his phone, barely registering any of the words in the text, but he sees who it's from, and he knows it must be important.

"Put the phone away." Came the grumbled reply of his bedmate, and the blond was quick to ignore Ashton's voice as he tried to read. 

"Michael, come on." Ash said again, and once more, he was ignored. 

"I'm warning you, Clifford." 

"Shut up, Ashton." Michael snapped back at him, and that was it. His phone was being snatched from his hands and being thrown. 

"Mother fucker!" The man shouted, vaulting out of the bed after it, but it was for nothing. The screen was shattered and the device wouldn't come on. 

"Dammit, Irwin, you piece of shit!" Michael was fuming now, and even though apology after apology spilled from the drummer's lips, he didn't turn back. He simply stormed from the hotel room.   
"I fucking hate all of you!" He shouted from the doorway.   
Luke looked up with groggy eyes, frowning.   
"What did I do?" He asked, and Michael could only point an index finger at him before leaving the room, making a point of slamming the door behind him, the broken phone clutched tightly in his hand.  
~*~*~*~*~

"No, I haven't heard from him. He's being tagged in pictures from the concerts on Twitter. I... Maybe I freaked him out with my text." You scratch at your arm, frowning at the burning sensation beneath the crimson letters. 

Your mother gives a little sigh, taking your hands. 

"I know it hurts, honey. He'll get back to you, he has to. You said he's busy, right?" She asked, and you let out a dry laugh. 

"Well, yeah, he's a rock star, mom. But... he said he'd text me. This has to be happening to him too." You swallow hard. It's been two days, and you've begun to grow unbearably anxious. You curse yourself for not getting Calum's number. 

You groan, thunking your head down on the tiny cafe table.   
Your mom had insisted on dragging you out of the hotel room, and you hadn't wanted to, but she was your mom. 

"I know baby. It's okay." A gentle hand rubs your back, and you whine about your chest hurting.   
This stupid soul mate crap is killing you. Almost literally. 

You don't mean to be this boy crazy, but you take a deep breath, checking your phone again.

~*~*~*~*~  
"I fucking hate him."

"Look, he's part of the band and you're going to have to talk to him at some point."

"Like hell I do." 

Michael was strumming on his guitar backstage, glaring at Calum.   
He'd been more irritable in the past few days, his arm burning furiously. 

"I gotta get out of here, Cal, I'm going crazy. She probably is too." Michael sighed heavily, lower in his head. 

"Its just a couple weeks." Calum replied.

"And I can't do it! I need to be with her! She's probably losing her mind too! She already thinks I'm a jerk." He groaned, fisting his hands into his hair.   
Calum sighed, patting his shoulder.   
"You can't play like this, Mikey." He said, a teasing tone to his voice, but a severe look on his face. 

"I think you need a week off of shows. We'll tell people you're sick, and we won't be lying, right? If you can hang on for another three or four days, we can see about getting you out." He smiled, watching his friend look up at him. 

Michael was stunned.   
"You... What about my parts?" 

"We have backups. It won't be the same, and fans will be disappointed, but they'll forgive you."

The blond took a shaky breath, and nodded slowly.   
"Yeah. Yeah, okay. I need to get a new phone. Before I go." He muttered, swearing violently when he realized that he'd not memorized her number. But she'd taken a selfie in the hotel room... She put it on Instagram with the location, and that was all he needed.   
Standing up, he smiled brightly, the first time in days, and hugged Calum, effectively hitting him in the stomach with his guitar. 

It took only a moment of recovery before before the two boys were on stage for sound check, Michael and Ashton still avoiding eye contact. However, the drummer made an attempt, reaching out his hand to the other. 

"I'm sorry. I know you hate me, but... Sorry." He said, giving Michael a wide eyed puppy dog look that he knew he couldn't resist. With a huff, the blond shook his hand. It didn't take long for Calum to start relaying their clever plan to the others as Michael pulled his sleeves over his arms, hissing at the itching, burning pain from the stupid tattoo.  
No, it wasn't stupid. It was good. It was his fault for not taking care of his girl. Absent fingers began to strum out the melody of Amnesia, drawing the other boy's attention. Michael hadn't realized that his eyes were crinkled shut, tears slipping down his cheeks, but when a pair of arms slid around his shoulders, he jumped, glancing back. He'd expected it to be Calum, but it was Luke, his face pressed to the back of Michael's shoulder.   
He looked sympathetic, nervous as well. Ashton was the next to wander over, wrapping himself around both Michael and Luke, and Michael had enough sense to take  
off his guitar and set it aside before Calum barreled into all of them, causing their sensitive hug to become a dog pile, with Michael on the bottom.

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

You had locked yourself away for four days. It'd been, officially, seven days since you'd heard anything from Michael, and you'd practically clawed your arm off. Your mother had to bandage it after you scratched it in your sleep, and opened it up. That was an awkward conversation with housekeeping.   
You wanted to stay inside in the dark, staring at your phone, waiting for stupid ass Michael Clifford to remember you exist, but your parents had made you go to some art walk thing, where artists displayed their work on the street. It was a really cool festival, and you found yourself becoming more and more distracted.   
You'd gotten dressed as best as you could, wearing a pair of jeans, a loose lace-backed tank top, and ratty converse. You made sure you looked presentable, at least. 

Your parents chattered on and on about the beautiful classical art, of women and trees, but you found that the spray paint art, depicting outer space, and the modern art made of chunks of metal caught your fancy better. They were brighter, sticking out more. Like someone you knew.   
You sigh, sitting on the sidewalk as you watch the spray paint artist, mesmerized by his work. You wish, briefly, that you could do that. Maybe if you had a remarkable skill, you'd be able to make people remember you.   
You hear someone sitting down beside you, but you don't look over, watching as the artist swiped a sponge over the paint.   
There's a brush of a touch to your hand, and again, you ignore it, concentrating.   
It's not until you feel a gentle kiss to your cheek do you react, fist flying out blindly and catching the assailant in the face. The person yells, knocked onto their back, and something looks awfully familiar. 

"M-Michael...?" You ask, your brows pulling together as he sits up, checking his nose for bleeding. It's not, but you want to hit him again. You stand up, your heart in your throat. 

"What the hell?!" You shout, not giving him a second to speak. He slowly gets to his feet, eyes wide and hair a mess.

"Where.... why weren't you answering me?! I thought I was dying, and I can't believe that you think you can show up and-" You're cut off but a warm pressure on your lips and arms around your waist. You're frozen for a moment, your mind telling you to shove him, but your heart, the desperate, empty part tells you to get as close as possible.   
So, you listen to your heart, your arms looping around his neck and pulling him down to your level. A soft 'mmph' left him, but not once does he part from you, just as starved for the kind of love only a soul mate could provide, as you were.   
His mouth was soft and warm, his lips crashing against yours, hoping your inexpertised kissing didn't show. He didn't seem to mind as he held the control, a hand moving to cup your cheek as he moved to deepen the kiss, but stopped at the sound of someone clearing their throat.   
"(Y/n)?" You hear your mother, and you pull away from Michael, wiping your mouth sheepishly. He seems a little hurt at the action, but he takes your hand as you turn to face your mother and father. 

"Uh...uhm... This is Michael Clifford, he's my... uh..." You swallow hard, still tasting him on your tongue.

"Soul mate." Michael fills in, holding out a hand to your parents. 

"It's nice to meet you finally. I decided to come back and surprise (y/n), and I remembered her posting something about loving art, and I figured that... This is where she'd be." He said. Your mother looks charmed as she shakes his hand, and your father looks stern, studying his appearance. 

"I was thinking about taking her to lunch, if that's okay with you?" Michael asked your parents, and you nod, symbolizing that that's what you want. 

"Take all the time you need. You two need it, to heal up." Your mother takes his hand, motioning to the blotchy red skin. He gives a small smile, nodding. You wave goodbye, and he wraps an arm around you, trying to find a place to rest his fingers. You guide his hand to your waist, and he smirks. 

"I'm pissed at you." You say, though you don't pull away. 

"I can explain everything." He said, his eyes only on you.

"Please do."

~*~*~*~*~

As it turns out, Michael explained everything on the way to his hotel, and she didn't exactly care. (Y/n) was more interested in walking close, their hips bumping, her free hand placed upon his.   
He felt the pull too, the need to just cling to each other. They didn't even have to talk. They just had to hold each other. Be there. Touch.   
She listened as he told her about the tour and his phone, and when he got to the bit about Ashton breaking it, she frowned. 

"Does he not like me?" She asked, and Michael laughed softly, stroking her hair. 

"'Course he does. He doesn't like light when he's hungover." He explained.   
"S'alright, it happens a lot. Got a new phone. It doesn't have any pictures of your pretty face on it, though." He flirted, and he smiled when she blushed.   
He didn't know if it was the lack of contact with her for so long, but he couldn't help but think that every single thing that she did was absolutely beautiful. She was like... Fire and ice, all at once. Like grassy meadows swaying in the wind.   
She was the lights of his dark city, even though he knew so little of her. He felt he'd known her for so long. He needed her.

It turned out to be the same for her.

Michael's hotel wasn't far away, and truly, he'd spared no expense on the room. He wanted to make up for the time he'd lost with (Y/n). A huge bed, a gorgeous view, and he just wanted to hold her close. 

Pushing open the door of the room, Michael watched her expression changed to awe. 

"This... wow." She whispered, her eyes wide as she was nudged inside. 

"I wanted it to be perfect." He said quietly, watching her marvel at the beautiful space. 

"It is. Even better with you here." Her voice made him warm inside, and he stepped forward, pulling her into his arms and kissing her hard. She responded eagerly, her lips hot and needy against him. 

Michael's hands began to wander, trailing down (Y/n)'s sides, resting on her hips. Pale fingers ventured beneath her shirt, and she gasped softly, pulling away with her slender fingers tugging at the collar of his flannel. 

"I... Sorry, I just..." Michael tried, but the girl laughed softly, nuzzling his jaw. 

"Your fingers are freezing." She giggled, gently taking the appendages and kissing them one by one. 

"Then maybe we ought to go warm up?" He suggested with a light smirk, kissing her once more. She glanced at the bed behind him, questioningly, and Michael gave a small nod.   
A blush flushed her cheeks, and she nodded as well, allowing him to scoop her up, her legs winding around his waist like second instinct. He carried her to the king sized bed, making up for lost time.

~*~*~*~*~  
Truth be told, you don't remember a lot of the previous night. You blame love for getting you drunk.   
When you wake, you don't recognize where you are at first, but as your memories begin to come back, you become aware of the arms wrapped around you, and the warm body that is pressed against your back and you smile.   
You relax against Michael's naked body, letting out a soft sigh, content to fall back to sleep, but the obnoxious buzzing of your own cell phone makes you jump.   
How much time had passed? It was dark now, and you just know it's your mother, calling in a panic.   
You jump out of the bed, scouring the floor for clothing, and settle on panties and Michael's flannel, closing two buttons on your stomach before diving for your phone. 

"(Y/n)?! Where are you?! Are you okay? Why haven't you been answering your phone?" Your mother's shrill voice pierces the air as you accidentally tap speaker phone.   
Your soul mate stirs in the bed, groaning softly, mumbling something about his mother.

"Mom, everything's fine, I'm with Michael. We fell asleep, everything is okay." 

"You're together? Did you two-" You cut her off. 

"Wow, mom, look at that, there's a thing that I gotta go...yeah. I'll call you later, okay? Okay, I love you. Bye." You rush her off the phone, hanging up and setting it on the dresser. You groan, bracing your hands against the wood as you stretch your back, noting your sore hips. Glancing in the mirror, you blush at the distinct hickey on your throat. 

"You look amazing." You hear the mumble, and turn back, seeing your lover sitting up, staring at you. His blond hair is thoroughly mussed, and he looks like an angel. You smile softly, looking down. 

"You're keeping that shirt now. It looks way better on you than me." He says, and you roll your eyes, running a hand through your hair. You head for the small kitchen, but pause as he makes an offended noise. 

"Where are you going?" He whines, and you smirk, looking back. 

"Getting something to drink." You reply, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. Its a bit past eight at night, so coffee is out of the question. 

"Come back and cuddle. Please?" He makes feeble grabby hands at you, and you can't help it. He looks like a sad puppy. 

"...Fine. You're the worst." You mumble, climbing back onto the bed. You slowly crawl into his lap, tucking your head in the crook of his neck. 

"You must love me. Just a little?" He asked, his arms wrapping around your waist. 

You consider this for a moment.   
Given the fact that you felt more at ease now than you had in a week, your tattoo had faded to hot pink, and you were currently in the arms of a very hot (and very naked) Michael Clifford?

"I love you a little."

"Just a little?" 

"Yesterday I hated you."

"Fair enough."

~*~*~*~*~

You stay silent for a long while, his hands having pushed beneath your shirt and were stroking at your spine. You were in danger of falling asleep right there on him, but just as you were, a sudden chiming of a phone made your eyes flicker open.   
"It's mine. Ignore it." Michael whispered, dropping a kiss on top of your head. You ignore it, but a few moments later, it makes the noise again. 

"S'probably Calum." He sighed, looking around. With you still on his lap, he shifts so that you're now pinned beneath him, his hand blindly reaching for his jeans. It takes a while, but he finally picks up his phone. He frowned as he sat back up, pulling you with him before sending a text. 

"What is it?" You ask, studying his expression. 

"Put your pants on." He said quickly, wriggling put from beneath you. He jumped up, pulling on his own underwear and jeans.   
"Michael? What's going on?" You ask as you haul on your pants, as you were told. 

"They're here." 

~*~*~*~*~

He couldn't believe it.   
Though the texts from Luke hadn't said outright that they were there, he'd asked if they were at the hotel, what room it was, and if they were naked. That was enough for him.   
He didn't want to stop cuddling with (Y/N) but damn it if he was going to let Calum make foul jokes.   
(Y/n) offered him his shirt back, but he refused it, pulling on an old tee shirt instead. He left her side with a light brush of his bright lips before practically sprinting to the door, just as heavy pounding sounded on it.   
He flung it open, and was unsurprised by the loud cheers that erupted, and the three boys pouring into the room.   
"Surprise!" Ashton shouted, raising his arms. Luke and Calum followed, smiling brightly.   
"What are you guys doing here? The concerts...?" Michael asked. He was confused, but not unhappy to see his friends.   
"Rescheduled. Where's (Y/n)?" Calum asked, looking around expectantly. 

"Yeah, Mikey, don't tell me you didn't find her." Ashton teased, earning himself a 'done with your shit' look. 

"She's here, but you guys can't like... swarm her. I don't want to overwhelm her." He said quickly, glancing at the bedroom door. From his angle, he could see the girl listening from the doorway. 

"Overwhelming? Do you even know us?" Luke asked, crossing his arms over his chest. Michael nodded. 

"Yeah, I do. That's the problem." He mumbled, running a hand through his hair.   
"(Y/n), they're not gonna eat you. Probably." He beckoned to her, and though she was visibly hesitant, she walked into the open. The boys shared a glance. 

"Uh...hi." She said softly. 

It was Luke who moved first, stepping forward and hugging the girl awkwardly. Not that he was awkward, but she was. Ever so slowly, with a nod from Michael, she reciprocated the embrace, earning a small smile from the singer. He stepped back, and Calum jumped forward, a bit more aggressive than Luke, like a puppy as he wrapped his arms around (Y/n). She gave a tiny, adorable squeak, but she didn't pull away as he squeezed her. 

"Alright, that's enough. Shoo." Michael tugged on the back of Calum's tank top, and he pulled away with a bright smile. Michael could tell that Cal had just picked a new cuddle buddy. 

Ashton was next, leaning down and delivering a quick, brotherly hug with a big smile. He didn't linger too long. 

"So we're going out to celebrate, right?" The drummer asked. He was the 'responsible adult', and Michael knew that, even though he would try to keep an eye on the younger boys at a club, things would almost definitely get out of hand.

"Hell yeah!" Luke grinned, and Calum nodded eagerly. Michael glanced at (Y/n) in question. 

"I don't see why not..." She said, and the boys gave a loud cheer, making Michael laugh along with them. It wasn't but a moment before they were being dragged out of the room with promises of drinks and dancing.   
☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆ 

You learn very quickly what celebrating is with the boys.   
It's Luke and Calum getting incredibly drunk and running to the dance floor. It's Michael getting incredibly drunk and finding your lap to be the most comfortably place to put his head.   
You and Ashton were probably the most sober people in the the club, and he's nursing a beer while all you've had is Coke. To be honest, you weren't big into drinking. You'd never gotten drunk, but if the giggly boy laying on your thighs is anything to go off of, you're getting curious.   
For the hundredth or so time, you run your fingers through Michael's blond locks, and he drags his callused fingers over your soft tummy, having unbuttoned the flannel, just enough to reveal your belly button. You can tell he's saying something, but the throbbing bass has all but ruined your hearing.   
It's a little relaxing, really. Your parents have loosened their grip on you, allowing you to have fun without them having to know where you are at the time. It's nice.   
Ashton leans over Michael, smiling as he mumbled something in his ear, so you couldn't hear.  
He giggled madly, turning his head towards your belly and drawing his tongue across the soft skin. You let out a squeak of disgust, quickly covering your stomach as Ash and Michael burst into laughter. You're about to say something to them when an intoxicated blond is suddenly struggling back into the booth with (yet more) drinks, a raven haired boy just behind. 

"(Y/n), have some fun!" Luke slurred, thrusting a small, very brightly colored drink at you, nearly dumping it into your lap. You catch it quickly, inspecting it. It glowed under the blacklights, and you're not sure that it's not poisonous. 

"Come onnnnnn! They're good, promise." Calum said, shaking his own, and you watch as it sloshes onto his shirt. Ashton laughs harder, and Michael sat up, scooting beside you. You roll your eyes, unsure still, but you take a deep breath, and knock back the drink. It's sweet at first, watermelon flavored. It's almost pleasant, but then cane the blistering burn, singing down your throat and making you give a growl as it goes. The boys laugh again, and you blush, determined to get a drink down without whining about the pain.   
"Give me another." You say, and Luke looks stunned, but doesn't hesitate in handing you another, pink this time.   
Michael pulls you up into his lap, and you notice that Ashton has pushed his beer away in favor of a glass of water, and you know that he's suddenly decided that he needs to be sober.   
You tilt your head back, spilling the rose colored liquid down your throat, choking on the burn and the sour lemon flavor. You grunt again, making the boys laugh once more. 

"Another." You say, not giving yourself time to think about what was in the drinks. Luke and Calum oblige happily, and after about four more, the burn didn't bother you anymore, because a buzz had set in. Your speech had begun to slur, and you'd slowed your drinking, now turned and placing awkward, sloppy kisses to Michael's jaw and lips. He was returning the gesture, his lips returning the syrup sweet taste of the drinks. Your head felt like it was in the clouds, and you were the giggly one now. 

"(Y/n), do another!" Calum hiccups, shoving a blue one at you. You take it without argument, gulping it down and licking your lips. Michael purred at the action, leaning back in and capturing your lips in a hot, sweet kiss. 

"I wanna take you home with me." He growled into your mouth. You smirk, tugging at his hair playfully. 

"Okay." Is all you can manage.   
"You're really hot. Like... crazy hot. Like it's unfair. And I just wanna cuddle with you and like... love you forever. So like... don't leave me. Ever." You don't even hear the words leaving your lips, but Ashton gives a snort.

"I wanna take your pants off. Like... right here." Michael slurred out, and that made you burst into laughter, going to poke his nose, and ending up jabbing him right in the eye. He yelped, his knees jerking and your hip hitting the table, sending fruity drinks into Ashton's lap. He yelled, scowling at you and Michael, and you stick out your lip, leaning over and giving Ash's cheek a light peck.   
He smiled at you, but you feel Michael giving sharp jerk at your wrist, and suddenly, he's hauled you into a very hot, very possessive kiss. Your drunken mind doesn't get it right away, but your soul mate pulls away hard, glaring and looking very sober for a few moments.   
"Mine." He growled, and your cheeks heat up as you realize the boys are all watching. Aston looks horribly pleased with himself, and Calum and Luke have averted their gazes, but you nod at Michael, leaning and delivering a delicate kiss to his lips.

~*~*~*~*~  
The night was a whole blur after the kiss, and the next time you wake, you're in a comfortable bed, alone.   
You pry open your eyes, hissing at the light and the crushing pain in your skull, but you're becoming concerned at the fact that you're still in your clothes from yesterday, and you're all alone. Sitting up slowly, you groan, rubbing your eyes before ever so slowly climbing out of the bed. It's quiet, and that in itself unnerves you. Your eyes half shut, you venture into the main part of the suite, and let out a slow breath of relief. 

On the floor by the couch, Michael and Calum were cuddled up, still snoring away beneath a blanket. Luke sat on the lounge, a mug in his hands and his eyes shut tight. 

"Morning." You hear from the small kitchen space, and you turn to see Ashton sitting at the table, a fresh pot of coffee on the counter. 

"Hey... I have no idea how we got back last night... D'you?" You whisper, your throat burned by the liquor. Surprisingly, you didn't feel nauseous, your head and throat were the only aches you could complain about. You made yourself some coffee, sitting down and watching the two boys on the floor.   
Ash nodded.   
"Cab. Luke and Michael were awake early, but, regretting every drink they had last night." He replied, and you roll your eyes, thankful that it wasn't you worshipping the porcelain throne. 

"And Cal?" You ask. 

"Sleeps like a rock. He'll be sick later, afternoon, maybe." He shrugged. 

"You really know these guys." 

"Which is why I stopped drinking when I did. I know as soon as you took that second drink that you wouldn't be able to take care of our stupid asses." He gave a grin, motioning to you.   
"You feel as bad as them?"

You shake your head quickly, sipping at your coffee.   
"Just a headache. How long will they sleep?" 

"Luke is awake, he's just pretending-" Ashton said, smirking when the blond boy flipped him off.   
"Calum should be up any minute now, but Mikey will sleep all day if we let him."

You're about to speak, but a long groan cuts you off, and you look over at the pile of blankets. Calum has sat up, just as Ash had predicted, looking a little pale. 

"Ah. See?" The drummer smiles at you, and you roll your eyes, standing up to check on him. You cross the floor and sit down beside the dark haired boy, smiling softly. 

"Good morning, Calum." You greet him, and he gives you a little smile. You hold open your arms, and he wraps his around your waist, resting his head on your stomach as you stroke his hair. Your eyes, however, are on Michael. The way that he lays there, looking like an innocent child when he's asleep makes you smile softly, reaching around Calum to take his hand.   
The blond grumbled in his sleep, but his fingers closed around yours gently. 

You're so comfortable, leaning back on the couch with your head resting against Luke's calf, you're in danger of falling asleep. And for a moment, you do, but you're woken by a sudden groaning and wretching. The grip on your hand tightens, then releases completely  
You jump, but Ashton is already sprinting into the room and hauling Michael up and to the bathroom. You sit up, watching them go with concern brewing in your chest. 

"He's gonna be okay, (Y/n), this happens all the time. You should have seen him in high school. He was a wild child." Calum looked up at you, and you sigh, toying with his curls.

"You need to brush your teeth." You say with a small smile. He frowns, poking you in the stomach. 

After a few quiet minutes, Ashton wandered back into the room. 

"(Y/n), he wants you. He's in bed." He said, washing his hands in the kitchen sink.   
You nod slowly, untangling Calum from around your waist. He whines, but climbs onto the couch, cuddling up to Luke. 

You make your way to the bedroom, sighing as you see your soul mate curled up and shaking, a water bottle pressed to his forehead.

"Hey, baby." You murmur softly, crawling into the bed beside him. He pries open an eye, beckoning to you to come closer. 

"Don't worry. Ash made me brush my teeth." He promised, and you roll your eyes, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He smiles, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

"Wanna shower with me?" He asks, and you laugh. 

"As inviting as that is, I don't have any clothes with me." You reply.

"You can borrow one of my shirts again." 

Well, you can't possibly argue with that logic.

☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆ 

The two weeks went too quickly.   
(Y/n) hadn't been able to come to any of the concerts, since none of them were actually in San Francisco, and her parents had drawn up her leash a bit, after she'd introduced the rest of the boys to them. Needless to say, they weren't thrilled. 

After the show in Anaheim and the post concert activities with the boys, Michael had returned to his bunk on the bus, eager to see if he'd gotten any messages from his girl. 

"Has she sent any nudes yet, Michael?" Calum smirked, wandering into the small area behind him. 

"Sharing is caring." Ashton mumbled from his bed, and Michael scoffed.

"You two are disgusting. Unlike your internet women, (Y/n) is a real person, and she's my soul mate. Not a porn star." 

"Yeah, well, we've all gone through that phase where we were sure as hell a porn star was our soul mate." The drummer replied.

 

Michael rolled his eyes, climbing into his bunk and closing the curtain. There was a missed call from (Y/n), but no texts. That wasn't a good sign... he'd learned that much. That meant that she needed to talk and it was important. 

He quickly tapped on the green phone icon, holding it to his ear as he laid back, his foot bouncing nervously as his mind flicked through every possibility of what could be wrong.

It took a while, but the phone finally stopped buzzing, and she didn't even say hello. 

"I'm going back to Boston."

Michael froze. 

"What?" He asked, his mouth falling open.   
"No, that... no, you can't go back! Aren't you going to college there? You're supposed to stay until I get back, so we can get an apartment!" He tried, and he could feel all activity outside of the curtain. 

"They're making me go back. You're going to Europe, and they won't let me stay there alone. We're leaving in the morning." Her voice was tear soaked, and instantly, his heart broke. 

"Shit. No, y-you..." Michael sucked in a deep breath.   
"I'm coming back. Don't leave, just stay there." 

"Michael, there's no point. The flight is at seven, and it's two right now. It takes six hours to get back here. I can't fucking... I don't want to go, I want to stay with you." Her words shattered him again, and he let out a growl as he climbed out of the bunk, nearly falling on his face as he sprinted towards the front of the bus. 

"Michael, where are you going?!" Calum shouted, sprinting after him. 

"(Y/n), I'll get there, you just... you can't leave! Please!" Michael begged, even as Calum grabbed him by the wrist. 

"Michael, stop. Please. You're going to end up hurting us." (Y/n)'s voice was soft and broken, but the man couldn't stop. 

"No, I'm coming to San Francisco, baby, I'm not going to let you go! You can't! I need you! I love you!" The words tore through the otherwise silent tour bus, and Calum pulled Michael back harder. Tears welled in the blond's eyes as he begged, but he knew ot wouldn't help. 

"I-I... I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Michael. I'm sorry." He could hear that she'd started crying again, and he swallowed hard, pulling free of Calum's monster grip and leaning against the wall. 

"Don't go. We were supposed to have the night together before I left..." He mumbled, looking outside. There was the van they used for transportation...  
He sprinted outside, banging on the window of the small vehicle and jarring the driver. 

"Michael, please..." (Y/n) whispered, and he could feel tears pulling up through him. 

"I need to be in San Francisco right now. Please, I need to get there!" He begged the driver, who checked the time, then looked back to Michael's desperate face. The man nodded, jabbing his thumb to the back. 

The guitarist breathed out a sigh of relief, leaping in and slamming the door shut, grateful that the driver didn't dawdle, pressing on the gas. 

"I'm on my way, baby girl. I promise, I'm going to be there." He breathed, the tears starting down his face at the thought of the thread between their hearts being stretched out so far.

"Michael, I don't think you're going to make it." She said, her voice low, like she didn't want anyone to know that she was talking to him. 

"Not with that attitude I won't."

~*~*~*~*~

He tries. He tries so hard.   
They arrive to the airport right at six fifty-five, and Michael barely waits for the van to stop before he's out and flinging himself towards the gate. He's memorized the information she gave him.  
He sees young people gasp as the recognize him, but he can't stop. He's wearing the same clothes he'd worn at last night's show, and he was sure he looked like shit, but he had a mission.   
Two more gates. Two more minutes. 

He snuck through security, ignoring the shout of one agent, but he was grateful that he wasn't being chased. Pausing to look at a sign, he immediately took off again, hauling ass through the crowd.

 

There she was.   
She was boarding the plane. She was *boarding the plane*. Michael was so close. 

"(Y/N)!" He practically screamed, but she didn't turn. She kept walking, her parents just ahead of her. 

"(Y/N)! (Y/n), I'm here! Stop!" He shouted again, and she froze, turning around. He was only sixty feet from her, but as he pushed himself harder, he watched as she was pushed into the terminal. She was fighting, trying so hard, but as soon as Michael had made it into the small area, the door swung shut, and she was lost to him. 

"No! (Y/n)! Fuck!" He ran at the door, ignoring the attendant who shouted at him. He could hear (Y/n) on the other side, fighting just as hard, but her voice grew fainter, like someone was carrying her away. 

"FUCK!" The word came out as a blistered, pained bellow, and he fell to his knees, fisting his hands into his hair as tears streamed down his cheeks. 

He had tried.   
He had tried.  
☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆

[Text to: Michael♡] it's been days, Michael, please text me.  
[Text to: Michael♡] why are you mad with me?  
[Text to: Michael♡] I tried to come back to you, you know I did.

You've tried texting Michael every day for a week, only to get nothing in return. You wonder if he's angry, or he hates you, since he was refusing to text you back. 

You were back in your own room, curled up in your day bed, the windows open and letting in the sweet autumn breeze. It would have been nice if you weren't feeling like you were dying. Your phone is beside you as you hold a pillow across your face, groaning into it loudly.   
You'd give anything to be back in his arms. For him to hold you at night, whispering what you mean to him, inhaling his intoxicating scent. His shirt adorns your body now, and it still smells of him. It's not the same, but it's as close as you're getting. 

The buzzing of your phone makes you sit straight up, throwing the pillow from you as you scoop it up and see... 

[Text from: Unknown] Hey, (Y/n), it's Luke. I figured id check in and see how you are, since mike isn't saying anything to any of us. 

With a small sigh, you save his number into your phone, and type out a reply. 

[Text to: Luke☆] Hey. Is everything okay? He's not texting me back.

[Text from: Luke☆] We don't know. He won't come out of the back room. Ashton said that he's just working things out. 

[Text to: Luke☆] Can you check to see if he's alive  
[Text to: Luke☆] Please  
[Text to: Luke☆] I'd know if he was hurt but I think he's angry at me

A few minutes pass, and you lay on your side, the phone clutched to your chest as you wait. You have a sinking feeling in your stomach- You just can't help it. 

The deep bubbling chime of a Skype call makes you frown, but you answer the video call from Luke with little hesitation, sitting up and brushing a hand through your messy hair. 

The picture on the end became clear, Luke's face, looking a bit anxious, but there was his smile. 

"Hi, (Y/n)!" He waved, and you smile softly. 

"Hey, Luke. How are you doing?" You reply, and you watch as he flops backwards onto something-   
Someone, actually, because a loud groan issues from the pile of blankets that he's laid on. He's quiet for a moment as he moves the camera around the tiny, dark room, and you can see the mess: scattered bottles and food wrappers, the light of a t.v flickering in the background, and a nest of blankets on the floor. 

"You're not gonna believe this, but there's a Michael under here. And here..." He holds up a black box.   
"Is his phone. It's dead, so basically, he's been sitting back here in his little box, playing FIFA and drinking. Michael, say hi to your girl." 

You sigh, ruffling your hair as you patiently sit and wait. 

"No." Came the grumble, and Luke looked down, smirking. 

"Come on, she wants to make sure you're okay." 

"Fuck off. She doesn't care, she went back to Boston. Why... why doesn't she want me?"

Luck looked back at the camera, his mouth hanging open.   
Your eyes fill up with tears, and your lips part. 

"(Y/n), he's drunk, I'll take care of him, I promise." The singer said quickly, swallowing hard, but you shake your head. 

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't want to go, Michael." You say softly, and you watch as the boy sits up, his eyes red and bloodshot, not at all unlike yours. 

"Then why didn't you fight?" He snapped, and you watch as Luke handed away his phone, not wanting to be part of the conversation. He escaped through the door behind Michael, who was still glaring. 

"I did! I wanted to stay with you! My dad, he carried me onto the plane! I tried to get back to you, I swear." You plead with him, and he just snorts, looking away. 

You hesitate, swallowing hard. 

"I... I hate sleeping alone. It's too cold, and I don't get to wake up and see your face. I miss you holding me and calling me yours, and I love the way you say my name. I love how nervous you were, asking if you could hold my hand, and you're a world class cuddler... I just want to be back with you." You feel stupid as you say it, tears slipping down your face, your left hand opening and closing as you flex the muscles under the burning pink marks on your arm. 

Michael is silent for a few moments, but he looks up, meeting your wet eyes. 

"We... We're going across the ocean, (y/n). I don't know what to do." He whispered, carding a hand through his sad, flat hair. 

"I'll go with you." You know how stupid it is as soon as you say it. You have no means of traveling around with them, and even then, your parents would never allow it. 

"You and I both know that's bullshit." He mumbled, and you sucked in a deep breath. 

"Michael... I'll Skype you every night. I'll text you every day. I won't let us fall apart." You swear, and you mean it. 

"I know. I'll make video diaries for you, and I'll send so many selfies that you'll get sick of me. And if I forget, Calum and Luke will make me." He replied softly. You can't help the tiny smile on your lips at the hopeful look on his pale face.

You know this is going to work. It's going to. You and Michael are connected for life, and though most people aren't torn from their soul mates, you can do it. If both of you put in the effort...

"I love you." You say quietly, and a huge smile drifts over his bright lips. 

"I love you too, (Y/n)."

~*~*~*~

And so, it went on like that.   
You received a new set of selfies every day, some of them featuring Calum, and some photos taken by Calum, of Michael, sleeping, eating or doing something incredibly odd, like carrying Luke around, or just getting out of the shower. You appreciated those, but you wouldn't tell him that. 

The first time you cried because of something he sent, it was a video, and he was on stage, leaning out over the crowd. 

"Alright, ready, one, two-" Michael called out, the audio cracking and and the camera shaky,  
"WE LOVE YOU, (Y/N)!" The audience shrieked.   
"Love you, baby." Michael said, and the video ended. You burst into tears, and it was beautiful.

 

There were a lot of videos from the boys for you, and your favorite so far has been from Luke. He's sitting there, filming himself, and the scene of chaos behind him. Ashton has pinned Michael down on the couch in a dressing room and Calum is attacking both of them with silly string. The poor kid just looks terrified, and he shouted: "Mom, they're fighting again, help me!". 

You did feel like a mother to the idiots, to be honest. Especially to Calum and Luke, but you knew they were adults. 

You missed them. 

~*~*~*~*~

"If you puke, I'm not cleaning it up." Calum called into the room, watching Michael hop up and down after downing a full can of Red Bull. 

"Shut up, I'm busy!" He shouted back, not stopping his interesting bounce.

"Alright, alright, calm your tits. What are you doing?" The dark haired boy asked, leaning back as he observed his pale friend. 

At that point, Michael had stopped jumping, and was now stretching.  
" I'm trying to wake up. I was up all night." The blond replied. 

"Love that album."

"I was Skyping with (Y/n)."

"How's Mom?" Cal asked, using the nicknamed they'd fondly given (Y/n), after she'd scolded Ashton when he'd pinched Luke while they were on a video call. She'd made him blush, and he'd apologized to Luke, surprising all of them. From that moment on, she was the mother of their little band of lost boys. 

"She's great. She got a job last week as a waitress, at a little diner themed like the Fifties. She's got this adorable uniform that makes me just want to-" 

"LALALALALALA!!!!!! NO!" Calum shouted, covering his ears as he got up.   
"I don't need to hear that! I just wanted to know why you decided you were a fucking rabbit!" 

"I'm tired. I was just trying to wake up!" Michael replied. 

"Then don't get weird!" 

"You guys are getting weird without me?" And suddenly, the door had opened, and Ashton and Luke walked in, immediately heading to get ready for the show. 

"We're talking about Michael and (Y/n)." Calum shot back, and Luke let out a groan.

"I don't want to talk about Mom getting weird." 

"I do." 

"Shut up, Michael!"

"I did actually come in here with important things to say, y'know." Ashton called out above the squabbling group, and Calum took the opportunity, standing on his chair and clapping his hands. 

"Ashton, the great and terrible wants to speak!" He called, and Michael and Luke stopped fighting, laughing instead. 

"Suck my dick, Calum, this is serious." Ashton snapped back at him, but the Kiwi could not quit.

"You're having serious dick problems? Wow, that sounds uncomfortable."

"I'm going to ignore that." The older muttered, pulling on a clean shirt.   
"So, for this venue, not that you asshats bothered to check it out, we have to be careful on that stage. The orchestra pit is usually covered, but the cover got damaged, so if you fall off the stage, it's like, a fifteen foot drop. So, get all excited, but seriously. Don't fall." Ashton finished with a grave look.   
Michael snorted. 

"Oh, come on. When have we ever fallen off stages? We're professionals."

~*~*~*~

During the concert, it became a game. Who could get out furthest without dying, leaning out over the pit, casting looks at Ashton just to see if he was losing it yet. All they got, however, were stern looks and glares, and that's when they began to shake it up, hopping around and grinning. At this point, it was just Michael and Calum running forward, balancing on the edge, and running back, while dancing and playing along, daring Luke to scold them, because, really, they were doing what they were told to do. They were playing like they were supposed to, weren't they?

As the song ended, Michael ran to join Calum at the far edge of the stage, grabbing a bottle of water as Luke addressed the crowd. Calum, still strumming on his bass, smirked. 

"I bet you won't stand on the very edge." He said, and the blond smirked. 

"Like hell I won't. I wanna make Ashton's head explode." He grinned, rushing back out onto the open stage, to the very edge. He'd just began to play the intro to Try Hard, when a sudden blow to his back had him falling forward with a shout of fear, and everything went black.

~*~*~*~

Calum didn't know what had happened. One minute, everything was fine, and the next... 

He didn't mean to push Mikey. He'd just been goofing off, but when he had, and the guitarist had fallen into the pit, it took all of two seconds to realize what had happened. The crowd screamed, and all three boys had practically thrown their gear as the sprinted to get to their friend. 

"Shit! Michael!" Calum called, but he couldn't see into the darkness of the orchestra pit. The audience was losing their shit, and as Ashton flew off the stage, and practically leaped into the pit, he saw a scene that made him sick.   
Michael was breathing, but he was unconscious, his left leg twisted oddly beneath him, and his arm supporting his head. That brought a bit of relief, knowing that he had protected his skull in the fall. His guitar lay a few feet away, broken, but that was the least of his concern. 

"Call for help!" Ashton called up, but he wasn't sure if anyone had heard. He could hear the crowd carrying on, and after a few long minutes, a pair of emergency medical caretakers and a security officer appeared, presumably from the back door, since they didn't climb down. 

He watched in fear as his friend was strapped onto a stretcher, his mouth open as the shock set in. Sure, they'd had accidents during concerts before, but they'd always been able to walk it off.   
Luke was desperately trying to calm the crowd, and Ashton heard him shout 'Good night, Madrid!'. That was it. This was unbelievable.   
It was barely a moment later that Calum was scrambling into the pit, his eyes falling on his best friend, and his face paling more than before. 

"Shit. Fucking shit, this is all my fault." He gasped out, watching as the EMT's carried him away. 

Ashton couldn't speak. He simply put his arms around the panicking boy, pulling him along as they followed. 

"We're taking him to the hospital. It doesn't appear that he's got any cranial or neck injuries, but he's got some broken bones. He should be just fine." One of the paramedics explained, and Ashton nodded, feeling like a parent, with the way that he was holding Calum, and the way that he was handling the situation. 

He watched as Michael was carried out of the back door, down the long hallways and towards the back of the huge concert hall. Wondering how much time had passed, Ashton couldn't even bother to check his watch as Luke came flying into the hallway, his blue eyes wet, tears making their way down his pale cheeks. 

"W-What..." He asked, looking around. 

"Come on. Hospital." Ashton said, taking his hand and hurrying along after the paramedics.

~*~*~*~

The pain starts in your fingertips, hitting you in the middle of your late afternoon shift, so hard that you cry out in pain. It shoots up your arm, your veins going red, lightning carving over your tattoo. You drop your tray of coffee as you clutch your wrist to your chest. 

"(Y/n)!!!" You hear your manager shouting, but you're too busy wondering why the hell your arm is breaking. You double over, ignoring the coffee staining your 50's themed uniform, ignoring the hand on your back, ignoring the pressure, moving you to the back room. 

"(Y/n)? (Y/n), sugar, look at me, what's going on?" Your manager is trying desperately to get your attention, but the pain has spread to your chest, and you can't breath. What the hell was going on?  
One word kept flying through your head.   
Michael. 

"I-I-I..." You're struggling, gasping for air. 

"C'mon, baby, look at me. Deep breaths." Your manager is an older woman, and really, she was more like your grandmother than boss. 

"I need my phone. I h-have to c-call M-Michael!" You're suddenly bolt upright, grabbing at her apron and gasping. 

She looks alarmed, taking your wrists, but as her hand touches your tattoo, you cry out, pulling away, and she seems to suddenly come to a revelation. 

"Alright, baby, you take all the time you need." She says quietly, helping you to your locker in the back. Watching you open it and dig out the device. You weakly pull up Michael's contact, holding the phone to your ear as you tremble, leaning against the wall. 

It goes straight to voicemail, and you swear violently, trying Calum next, getting the same result. You then try Luke, then Ashton, growing more anxious. 

"T-they had a concert tonight... T-They should have been done..." You whimper, wiping your eyes and slamming your phone down. 

Your boss sighed softly, gently guiding you back out to the main dining room, where it seems to have emptied out, one of your co workers cleaning up your mess. She sits you at the counter, pouring you coffee and watching your face.

You don't touch the cup, your hands shaking too badly to lift it, so the old woman takes your fingers gently. 

"Sweetheart, your arm is hurting you?" She asked, and you nod shakily.   
"And you tried calling your soul mate?"  
You nod again.   
"Oh dear..." 

"What?! What is it?! Do you know what's happening to me?!" You gasp out. 

She strokes the back of your hand, and she sighs. 

"Baby, your soul-mate..." She trails off, waiting for you.   
"Michael." You supply, swallowing hard. 

"Michael, of course. Good, strong name." She said gently.   
"Don't panic, darling, but Michael is hurt." Immediately, you leap up, feeling sick. 

"H-how do you know? H-He could be fine! I-I need to... Social media. It'll be there if something happened." You run back to your locker, pulling out your phone, but before you can type anything into the search, your best friend's name pops up on the screen, and you immediately answer it. 

"(Y/n), it's Michael-"

"What the hell happened?" You waste no time asking.

"I was watching a video someone posted on Facebook, and he-" They trail off, and you ball your fist. 

"What happened."   
~*~*~*~

"He's okay." 

"He might not have been, Ash." 

"But he is." 

"The bone was sticking out of his fucking leg! I pushed him, he fell, and it was my fucking fault!" Calum, curled up in a chair in the waiting room, held his head in his hands.   
Luke sat to the right of Ashton, having not interjected on the subject at all. He'd been silent, just observing the waiting room as he cried. He'd fallen asleep after awhile, his head resting on Ashton's shoulder.  
Cal needed to be comforted, by someone, anyone.   
Damn, he wished his mother was here...  
Mother.   
Mom. 

"Shit, we didn't call (Y/n)." He gasped, sitting up and checking for his phone. It struck him that he'd left it in the dressing room, as did the rest of the boys. Calum looked up at him with tearstains on his tan cheeks, his hands shaking. 

"I-I don't have my phone." He swallowed hard, rubbing his face anxiously. 

"Well-" Ashton began, but he jumped, looking up as a doctor walked into the waiting room. He stood, shifting Luke's head to the other side before walking to the man in the white coat. 

"He's alright. Many of the bones on his left side are damaged, his shoulder is fractured, his elbow as well, his femur, tibia and fibula, and his hip bone all sustained breaks and fractured, but his head and neck are just fine. There is bruising, but, from what I understand, he's a guitarist, and I thought you might like to know that his fingers are all fine." The doctor explained, and Ashton let out a deep sigh of relief, but behind him, a wet sob sounded, and Calum could be seen, curling up tighter in his chair.  
The doctor gave a questioning look, and Ash carded a hand through his messy curls. 

"He, ah... Well, he thinks he pushed him off the stage. It's not his fault, it's Michael's. If he'd just listened and stayed off the edge like I'd told him, he wouldn't be in this situation." He half turned his body, so that Cal could hear, but the boy gave no recognition. 

"When can we see him?" Ashton asked, turning back to the doctor. 

"Not right now, he's still in surgery. It should be a few more hours." The man replied. 

"And... what can we do?" 

"Get ready to make him comfortable. He is going to be down for a while, so, no shows until at least the fractures in his arm are healed up."

Ashton sighed, but nodded once more.   
"Thank you." He mumbled, turning and walking back to the other two, sitting on the floor and stretching out.   
It was going to be a long, long night.   
It felt like days, but it was only hours that passed, and the three boys in the waiting room could to nothing but sit there, staring at the ceiling.   
Calum in particular, since he'd now stretched out with his feet braced on the floor, his head tilted back as painful thoughts swept through his mind. What if Michael hated him? What if *(Y/n)* hated him?   
He didn't think she was capable of hating people, really.  
Content to go on for hours, hating himself, Calum was not given the chance as eventually, around six in the morning, Madrid time, several people from the tour staff showed up, bearing flowers and gifts, as well as a bag of their personal items, including phones and changes of clothes.   
Calum gratefully accepted his, and when the doctor called them to come and see Michael, he declined, going to make a phone call instead.  
~*~*~*~

You're going crazy.   
Your best friend told you what had happened, and you couldn't find anything but a video of him falling, which made you feel so sick that you vomitted. At work. It was gross, but your boss had thought nothing of it, thankful you'd made it in the can. 

You've tried calling the boys all so many times, but after a while, you give up, simply staring at your phone on the bus ride home.

Maybe he's dead.   
Maybe he broken his neck.   
There had to be a reason they were ignoring you, right?   
They were busy, and you kept telling yourself that you're being selfish and stupid. 

You lean your head against the cool glass of the window, pulling your coat around your body tighter. Your heart hasn't stopped pounding since your arm started hurting, and you're certain that you're dying.   
A few tears fall, and you sniffle, ignoring the look you get from the man sitting in front of you. You just want to be with Michael. You want him so badly, you feel sick.   
You close your eyes, but as soon as you do, your phone buzzes, and begins blaring Fly Away, Calum's ringtone. 

You answer it right away, your heart soaring. 

"Calum, what the hell?!? It's been hours! What's going on?! Is he okay?!" You ask, alarming pretty much everyone on the bus, at nearly midnight. 

"S-Slow down, I'm still trying to work this out too. H-He fell, and he broke his left arm and leg." 

A cry of disbelief and pain jars you, and the man in front of you has now turned, pretending to look out the window, but you know he's eavesdropping. 

"W-what?! I have to get there. I have to be there!" You gasp, but you know full well that you don't have the money to get to Spain.

"He needs you here, (Y/n), we all do. I've bought you a plane ticket, but the flight leaves in four hours. Can you make that?" Calum's voice is shaky, and you wonder if anyone has hugged him through this ordeal. You're too willing to even try to reject the plane ticket, since you know you need to be in Madrid now.

"Y-Yeah." You whisper. 

"I'll text you everything. I'm not going to tell him, so he'll be surprised." 

"That sounds perfect. I'll see you soon, okay? I'll cuddle with you right after Michael." 

"Okay... We really need some mom pep. Can't wait to see you." Cal mumbled softly before hanging up.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~

Your parents are hesitant to let you go, but once you explain the situation, your father offers to drive you. You don't even care that you hate flying. You just need to get to Michael's side.   
You wonder if he's scared, or in pain. You really, really hope he isn't. You couldn't bear to think of that. 

It's an hour into the flight, and you've not stopped scratching at your tattoo, which is now blending into the redness of the irritated skin, but you've got your earbuds in, Jet Black Heart playing softly; a meager attempt at distraction.   
His voice is so soothing to you, but you're still up the wall with worry.   
You're humming along, when a small tap on your shoulder draws you back to reality. A teenaged girl with a broad grin on her face stands in the aisle, and you look up, somewhat confused. 

"You're Michael Clifford's girlfriend." She says as you remove your earbuds, and you frown, your lips parting. 

"Huh?"

"You're (Y/n), right?" The girl falters a moment, her eyes dragging over your body. You feel like a bug under a magnifying glass, since your appearance isn't exactly fancy. You're wearing jeans and a hoodie that you may or may not have stolen from Michael, and your hair is probably a mess, but this girl knows who you are.

"Yeah... How do you know who I am?" You ask, cocking your head. 

"The pictures on Twitter? And Instagram?" She replies, and you suddenly understand.   
You blush, and she laughs. 

"Would you mind if I took a picture of you? For my blog? It's a fan blog for you, and the boys." 

You stop, looking up at her.   
"Seriously? Of.. of me?" You ask, and she nods furiously. 

"I... I guess, yeah." The smile on her face gets bigger, and she quickly turns, snapping a selfie. You manage to smile sheepishly before she kneels in the aisle. It's early in the morning, so thankfully, most people are asleep. 

"So are you going to see him?" She asks, and you nod slowly. 

"He doesn't know." 

"The fans would really, really like to know that he's okay. He is, right?" She asks, and you feel a sudden rush of protectiveness. 

"I can't say. I mean... I don't think I should say anything. It's not my place to say. His life, his privacy, y'know?" 

The girl looks alarmed for a moment, and you worry she thinks you're mean, but she nods quickly. 

"Do you need anyone to talk to? You know, just... in general? I don't know anything about you, and the fandom..." She gives a sheepish smile, and you can't help but be a little uncomfortable. But, not wanting to be rude, you shrug, and nod. After all, you know that all the fans know about you is your name. And they've seen pictures of you, but... 

The girl smiles, sitting in the free seat next to you and opening the memo pad on her phone.   
~*~*~*~ When Michael woke, the first feeling that struck him was pain. A crippling, aching pain that made him give a pathetic cry, his fingers curling into the crisp white sheets.   
He could hear quiet swearing, and pounding feet, but after a few moments, the pain ebbed, and he began to breathe easier, his eyes flickering open. It took a bit for the room to come into focus, with the blinding lights above him and the scent of antiseptic, and Michael remembered where he was. 

"Michael, you in there?" He heard the voice, and he turned his head, green eyes falling on Luke. He looked anxious and scared, even though they'd spoken already, when he first woke up.  
He looked around, seeing Ashton dozing in the chair beside the bed, but... people were missing.   
"Where's Cal?" He mumbled, and Luke sighed.   
"He hasn't been in here while you're awake, but he keeps an eye on you while you're sleeping." The younger replied, and Michael groaned as he sat up, his jaw tightening. 

"I need to- I gotta-" He tried, but Luke was on him in a split second, pushing him right back down. 

"No, Mike, you need to stay right there." He demanded, and the bedridden guitarist could only scowl. He did relax, though, his eyes flickering shut as he tried to collect his thoughts once more.   
He could remember falling, and Calum shouting, but nothing beyond that. Even the first time he'd woken was still a bit of a blur.   
Pain meds, Ashton had told him. 

"What time is it?" He asked, looking around for a clock, or his phone. 

"A little after six in the evening. You slept all day like nothing was wrong." Luke replied, checking his own phone. 

"...Did anyone call (Y/n)?" Michael asked, and the blond nodded. 

"Calum did. He said that she's worried and she wants to talk to you, but she can't come here to visit you." 

"Well, where's my phone? I need to let her know I'm not dead." He ignored the pain of the words and his arm and leg, trying again to sit up, but Luke pushed him down again. 

"Will you stop that?! I'm not fucking glass!" Michael snapped harshly, watching Luke back away with a hurt look on his face. 

"Hey! Don't talk to my baby like that!" The sudden voice startled all of them, and as their gazes turned to the doorway, broad smiles bloomed over their lips. 

(Y/n) stood there, looking exhausted, but as beautiful as ever, Calum at her side with a look on his face that showed something between pride and sheepishness. 

Luke grinned, practically leaping across the room to hug her, and Ashton, having just woken up, rubbed his eyes, frowning. 

"What did I miss?" He mumbled. 

Michael, smiling like a little kid, reached out with his good hand, trying hard to hold back tears, but just barely succeeding. 

She hurried to his side, biting her lip as tears fell down her cheeks.  
"You stupid boy. You're an absolutely terror, and I hate you." She said, and for a moment, Michael was afraid that she was serious, but when she leaned down and hugged him carefully, he let out a sigh of relief. 

"I love you so much. Don't fucking scare me like that again." She whispered, and Michael gripped at her hoodie, trying to hold her closer as tears fell from his own eyes. 

"This is adorable as hell. You did get that on video, right, Ash?" Calum asked, and Ashton laughed. 

"Hell yeah I did. It's on Twitter and Facebook right now." 

~☆~☆~☆~☆~

If it was even possible, you grew closer to the boys while you cared for Michael.   
You were hardly ever away from his side there to help him when he needed a cuddle, or anything else. You didn't want to go home. And the best part was, you didn't have to.   
You lived with your boys through the tour, happy to be in the news and in photos. Your days are exciting, running with the crazy boys, and your love life is beautiful.  
When Michael healed up completely, you and him had many adventures. As your lives progressed, things got better.   
You got married, but you didn't stop traveling. You didn't think you could if you tried.   
Even when you found out you were pregnant, you couldn't stop acting like a kid with the boys. Even when you were ready to burst, you could still be found sprawled out and cuddling with the boys. Mostly Michael. He didn't mind you cuddling with the boys, but Calum got handsy when he was drunk. 

After the baby was born, Michael fell in love all over again. You swear, you've never seen anything sexier than when he wakes up early to take care of the child in his old band tee shirts and boxers.   
You love him. Undeniably. Undoubtedly.   
Forever.   
All because you said that one word to him in a grimy McDonald's.   
Asshole.


End file.
